"This is used on a girl's tits and pussy, Pamela.
Hurts something terrible, but doesn't leave cuts or welts like a regular whip. You see, we've special- ized these days! Special whips for special places.
You're much luckier than girls in the old days who had to be satisfied with just one. Want a puff on my cigarette before I mark up that pretty back?"
Most of the girls smoked, but Pamela and Donna had only started two weeks ago.
"Yes, please, thank you mistress." Jan let her have several puffs.
The first stroke of the leather lash made Pamela jerk in her chains. A streak of fire burned along her back and brought a nice gasp from her lips. Dan didn't make a production out of it. The whip just raised and struck, time after time, in perfect pat- terns across the silken bare back. Pamela sang a song of pain very clearly.
It is funny how even during the hurt of the lashes a girl can think clearly about many things, and how certain emotions and feelings seem to be made clearer. In Pamela's mind, one thought be- came very clear.
I'm actually, really, truly, honestly being whipped like a woman! Like you see in the movies!
Me, Pamela McNee!
It wasn't that it hurt any more than the whip- pings she'd taken on her bottom. It was just… different. It was more mature. Even Iittle girls are punished on their bottoms, but the back… with a leather whip… very, very adult. Thus despite the searing pain, Pamela felt a sense of pride. She felt grown up suddenly, as if she had just had her twenty-first birthday! She was given a dozen.
Jan used a damp towel to wipe away two trickles of blood which had run down almost to the deep valley at her bottom cheeks. Kathy and Heather walked around to Pamela's back so they could see the lovely damage.
"Ooh, Pam, your whip marks are simply smashing!" said Heather.
"How nice," said Pamela caustically. "They hurt like hell, too."
Jan whisked the rubber length back and forth and it made a frightening sound.
"Geez," gasped Pamela.
"We call it the Angel's Kiss," said Jan. "Ready to really feel like a female? You'll know you're a girl when I'm done with your tits!"
"I know I'm a girl already," said Pamela. "Don't have to convince me… but, I'm ready."
Pamela never felt anything so traumatic in her life as when the Angel's Kiss had smacked into her breasts. "Smacked" was the correct word. The multi-thonged cat made a loud slashing sound. The leather whip made a cracking sound. But the Angel's Kiss made a smacking sound. It was, of course, due to where it was used. A girl's bottom, by its design, makes its own unique sound when whipped. A girl's back, much firmer, made another. A girl's breasts were not firm… they were curvy and soft. They did not crack when hit. They "smacked."
It had hurt so much, and had been such a sur- prise, that Pamela had not even cried out. Her head swung and her hair whisked and her nostrils flared.
The following strokes were not denied, however, and brought a magnificent array of moans and screams. The Angel's Kiss was not applied quickly to a girl. Each stroke was a separate punishment, applied with a lengthy pause in between to allow the girl the full pain of each blow. Jan applied each stroke with calmness, but yet with stunning force.
Pamela's breasts bounced wildly at each blow, and only when they had returned to their quiet repose did the next stroke come.
Jan aimed, of course, for the nipples each time. It wasn't that she was particularly sadistic. That's simply the way one whips a girl's breasts.
Pamela's screams were noticeably more shrill when the whining stroke did catch one or both of her nipples. She shook her head in stunned admira- tion over the seemingly endless amount of punishment that a female nipple could take. Nipples, created to dispense milk, were supposedly things of intimate sensual softness and tender design. Yet over the centuries, probably no other feminine part had been so punished, abused, and tortured, and still remained intact and sensitive. It was one of the strange mysteries of females. Pamela thought about her own. First, pierced like a sow's ear and violated with a ring. Then actually cored down the middle by another metal device, the locking pin.
Then subjected to electric current by Sabrina. Now whipped by a terrible rubber lash by Jan. Yet t,here they were, still there, and delightfully erect in a false passion produced by hurt!
Pamela had drifted off into these thoughts and had not heard Jan dialing the wall phone.
"Hello, Mrs. McNee? This is Jan Nelson… Oh, she's doing fine. Wonderful girl Matter of fact, I'm calling from our extension in the whipping suite.
Pam is getting her first real whipping right now … no… all over her… everywhere, First of many to come. She's getting to be a proper young woman, so she should begin t.o be whipped like one, don't you agree? Oh, good… I'm glad you feel that way, too. Haven't had time to write you this week, so I thought you'd like a special treat instead. You've heard the sound of a whip on a girl in movies and such… sure… so I won't bore you with that, but I'm whipping her breasts for the first time with a rubber thing we-use… yes… and I thought you might like to hear it being applied to her tits… yes, of course she yells. I'll have one of the other girls hold the phone close to Pam's front so you can hear it very clearly, and of course, her screams, too. I'll probably be well involved with Pam, so I won't pick up the phone again… yes… just hang up when you've heard enough. Bye."
Marienne McNee heard the loud smacking sound followed by her daughter's yowl. And another, and another, and another. Each moan and cry was different, but they. definitely were Pamela's!
"Owwwwww, Geez, my nipples! Yow! Whoooo- eeee! Ohhhhh!" It was enough for Marienne McNee. She wiped her brow. Then dialed Lila Carson. They made arrangements t.o get together on Saturday.
Pamela hung sweating. She hurt, but she had not wept. She finally mustered up enough courage to look down at what she thought would be ravaged breasts. They were not. They were red, but not streaked or welted, and the nipples, despite
Pamela's conviction that they were certainly lying on the floor somewhere, were still nicely in place.
Now that the burning hurt was over, Pamela once again felt a sense of peculiar pride in herself.
She had been breast-whipped like thousands of others, and like the others, found that she was still alive and not too badly hurt. More than ever now, she felt like a real woman! Yes, thought Pamela, I can accept it again and I know that I shall have to accept it again as long as I remain a female. It hadn't been too awfully bad at that, and I guess as long as a female has breasts she should expect to be whipped there.
Yet, her whipping was not over. The Angel's Kiss whined up between her legs and nestled into her sex. She whinnied like a horse. Another new emotion swept over her. It wasn't the searing pain, it was being tied so spread and open so that her most intimate place was totally helpless to prevent its punishment. Pamela shrieked at the second stroke and wanted to scream out that girls shouldn't be whipped there. There should be one sacred and inviolate place that would be free from the kiss of a whip. But she knew that girls had no such spot free from punishment. That was why girls were spread and tied like she was. But why a female whipping her there! As a female, Jan must know how it hurts a girl to be whipped there. The answer was again elementary to Pamela… that's exactly why a girl should be entrusted with the task of whipping another there. Because she knew the limits of the recipient at that place, and she knew the hurt!
Pamela took five strokes within her sex, the rubber rod splitting apart her lips at each strike, and curling up within her cleft behind to kiss briefly the puckered orifice which lay there. The Angel's Kiss had taken a few curly bits of fur from Pamela's patch.